We Are Family

It started out like any other family, for lack of better word, feud. There were no Hatfield and McCoy shootings, just a common agreement that certain members of the family did not get along and therefore stopped speaking. The problem was the dispute, as with most quarrels, had innocent victims.

This is my story.

My Grandmother was a strong willed person who liked controlling situations. No one knows the whole story, but she and my Aunt had a falling out that would never be rectified in this lifetime. Members of the family were forced to choose sides and in the end my mother lost her sister.

Over the years when I came home I would ask where my cousins were. I was told they had moved out of state and no one in the family knew where. I take responsibility for not pursuing their whereabouts, but I was raising kids and on our trips to Ohio attempting to juggle the parent and In-law visits with equal time.

But I missed my cousin. He was one of my best friends growing up. He was an usher at my wedding. He was a big burly football player from the neighboring city, but one of the sweetest men I ever met.

For years, I felt the hole left in my heart from his absence.

Then last year I was cruising some social networks and found his wife’s page. I contacted them and we caught up, as much as one can, on Facebook. Then we realized we were going to be in Ohio at the same time. Plans were made.

I was like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. I was to meet them at five at a favorite pizza place. Life happened and they were held up. I had to pick my Mom up at seven so our time was limited. I began to worry that I’d miss seeing them. Then the call came. We’d meet at a Starbucks between the two cities.

I sat waiting in anticipation. Wondering, hoping that the reunion would be all I expected. He walked through the doors and I started crying. I grabbed him and hugged, not the least bit embarrassed as other patrons looked on. I met his kids. I embraced his wife. We sat and talked. Neither of us understood the dispute, what had caused it, what had kept it going all these years.

All I knew is that because of a quarrel that was completely out of our control, we had missed being a part of each other’s lives.

I don’t see him or talk to him every day. But there is something there, some small part in my heart that has been opened. And it feels wonderful.

Live Like You Were Dying

I get the majority of my ideas for articles from friends. Most are going through the same aches and pains, trials and tribulations that I find myself dealing with as a fifty-something. But every once in a while I have a conversation with someone outside my group that touches me so much that I have to write.

Two days ago, I ran into a woman I met when I worked at St. Mary’s Hospital at a pediatric home facility where families stayed when their children were hospitalized. More often than not, the child was having treatment for cancer. The woman I ran into had a son who came routinely for two years and was dealing with an extremely treatable form of childhood cancer. "Good news," she told me. The young man just turned 22 and is by every sense of the word cured.

We spoke briefly, but I could see something in her eyes. She kept looking down as she spoke. Finally I grabbed her arm and led her to the food court. “Let me buy you a coffee.” I insisted. If I’ve learned one thing in life it’s that you have to stop and reach out to others in their moment of need. Too often I let the moment pass and regretted my lack of consideration later.

We made our way to the food court and over coffee she opened up about her own cancer nightmare.

After being diagnosed with breast cancer some years earlier and going through treatment, she had made it to 4 years and eight months before coming out of remission.

“They say if you make it to the five year mark it’s a good thing,” she told me with a sad smile. She was going back into a treatment plan. But what she said next changed me more than anything. “If I knew then what I know now, I’d have spent more time living and less worrying about death.”

Her son had been sick for so long that even after he was better death seemed to hang around. His immune system was battered and she constantly worried about accidents and illness, about strokes and heart attacks. She’d seen so much illness so early that she spent her life looking over her shoulder at every shadow.

“Do you know the song, Live Like You Were Dying?” she asked.

I smiled, “One of my favorites.”

“It’s true, you should live each day as if it were your last, not give into that fear of dying. Every day, I get up and say to myself, 'It’s going to be a great day, cherish it.' I tell everyone I love how I feel. I take numerous moments throughout the day to close my eyes and just breathe. I look around and I am so grateful for all that I have.”

I wondered what the people in the nearby booths thought of these two middle aged women crying together in the food court at the mall.

We talked some more. We caught up on her other kids that were always in tow when the youngest was in for treatment. I hadn’t seen her for eight years and knew because of the distance between our homes, the possibility that I would see her again was minimal.

“If you need anything...” I said as we hugged farewell.

She smiled, “I’m good, and it was great seeing you.”

We parted ways and I knew that I should take her advice to live each day like the special gift that it is to each and every one of us. Cherish the relationships; appreciate my life, my surroundings, all of those gifts with which I have been so blessed.

It happens, you hear this type of story and for a couple days you try. You attempt to live in the moment, appreciating loved ones. But all too soon we fall back into that everyday routine where just getting through seems to be a challenge.

Maybe, I would fall back into my habitual way of just getting through each day. As I got in my car, I closed my eyes and took in a long cleansing breath and cherished the moment. Maybe not.

Who’s there?

I’m not psychic. I have those moments where I get that feeling that something is wrong out there in the universe and I start calling everyone on the family tree to make sure everything is okay.

However, I have been afflicted over the years with hearing or feeling someone close by me when there are no other worldly people in the general vicinity. And occasionally I hear a whisper of a voice say my name. The kids find it hilarious. When they are in another room and I walk in and say, “Did one of you call me?”

But the voice has been useful. There were times when the voice stepped in and possibly changed the direction of my life.

Once when I was small I was running after a ball that had gone into the street when the voice yelled my name. I stopped to look around, trying to find the person who had called out to me. At that instant a car ran the stop sign in front of our house where moments earlier I had been stepping out.

The second time, I was walking on High Street by the Ohio State Campus, at night, and possibly a little inebriated. I decided to take a shortcut through an alley behind one of the more popular establishments. (Papa John’s for those old enough to remember.) As I turned the corner I heard my name called, same warning voice. I stopped and looked down the alley. There was a gang of guys hanging out and the situation did not look like one a lone female should walk through. I back tracked,kept to the main road and walked safely back to my friend’s apartment.

The third time I was driving through South Carolina on my way back to Florida from Ohio. The kids were asleep in the back and Kirk was dozing in the passenger’s seat. I had a tootsie roll pop that I was sucking on, trying to stay awake. We decided to stop once we got into South Carolina but realized there weren’t many hotels on 77 between Rock Hill, where the rooms were sold out due to a softball tournament, and Columbia. I was exhausted. I had the music turned up loud enough to keep me awake but low enough so the kids could sleep. I must have fallen asleep at the wheel because the voice all but shouted my name. I woke up before my tires hit the gravel strip beside the road.

I’m not sure who the voice is. As many of you know I am not a very religious person. As a child I named the voice Thomas.

And I’ve learned to listen when the voice speaks.

Yesterday, I was writing. The words were flowing in a way they haven’t for awhile. Words were coming to me from a myriad of directions. Cacophony, effervescent, abhor, aesthetically, egregious; words I love but somehow am never able to remember with my addled post menopausal brain. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow pass by the French doors of the den and heard my name. I turned, but knowing I was alone in the house knew it was just my friend stopping by to check in.

“Hey Thomas,” I said. “I’m all good, go help someone else.”

Oh What A Night

Last night was amazing. Not your once in a lifetime amazing, one of those, damn I should do this more often kind of things.

It started out like this. During the day I helped my daughter Brooke paint the doors for the cabinets at her new house. Bending over caused me to get a kink in my neck. (It’s the age thing. I never know exactly which part of my body will hurt at any particular moment.) When I got home I made dinner and after cleaning up the kitchen I decided it would be a great night for a good long soak.

I poured a glass of Bordeaux as it goes with everything. I filled the tub; hot water, maximum amounts of suds. I turned the lights down low, lit a vanilla candle and slipped in. The water, wine and candles did their trick. I was relaxed and the muscles were slowly beginning to loosen up.

I sipped my wine.

Half hour later I exited the bath and moved to the shower. It’s a crazy habit. I always rinse off and wash my hair in the shower after a bath. I took time to wash and did the full three minutes conditioning suggested on the bottle. I wrapped the towel around and stood in front of the fogged mirror. After using the blow drier to clear the fog, I put on a facial mask and then brushed, water picked and flossed my teeth. When the mask was good and hard I pulled it off and moisturized.

Next I blew and straightened my hair. I know I was going to bed in less than an hour, but I wanted to look good for me.

Lastly, I put on my red plaid flannel pajamas and walked out of the bathroom. It was a good hour of pampering myself and it was glorious.

I heard the TV on downstairs and heard Kirk and the girl’s talking. But tonight was “ALL ABOUT ME!”

I closed the bedroom door and shut out the noise from below, curled up on the chase in the corner of my room and read.

I sipped some wine. (It’s okay I can brush my teeth again later).

It was the perfect end to my evening.

Per-fect

You have all experienced it. That one brief moment when nature grabs you and holds you and nothing else seems to matter.

It could be as simple as a rainbow on a rainy day. You know. It’s pouring down rain but the sun is shining and you start looking. Then you find it, the myriad of colors painting the incredible arch across the sky.

It could be driving down the road and coming over the ridge and seeing an autumnal landscape. Bits of golds, reds, greens and browns splashed across the country side that in that one sweet moment takes your breath away.

It could be sitting at the beach and watching the storm clouds sweep across the Atlantic. White, billowing, balls of cotton with the steel grey skies as its backdrop. The long threads of water reaching from the sky to the sea in a curtain of black rain, back lit with flashes of lightening, turning into foam as it hits the sea.

Today for me it was sitting on the back porch as a soft rain fell. I looked up in the corner and noticed a spider’s web. The rain was running down the back of the house and a small drip ran down the corner and was saturating the cob web. I watched as tiny crystals formed on the delicate threads. It was quiet and I sat mesmerized as the droplets followed the intricate labyrinth left behind by the spider. As the sun came out the droplets came alive, prisms of light caught in the web.

The whole scene lasted only moments, but I have come to cherish these gifts, these wondrous moments only nature can provide.

My Day Sucked

The day started at 6:30 in the morning like this.

Husband -“Honey there’s a leak in the garage under the AC unit.”

Me - Yawn. “What? Where?”

“It started in the attic under the AC unit. Didn’t they just fix that?”

“Yeah.” Stretch.

“Can you call them?”

“They don’t open until 8. I’ll take care of it.”

Move the 35 boxes of cra*, I mean stuff we’re storing for the kids and wipe up the water in attic. Go down to garage under the leak and sigh at the amount of popcorn ceiling that has fallen. Decide to wait to shopvac later after it dries.Husband leaves. I grab a coffee and wait the fifteen minutes to call my friend the AC guy. (My friend as he’s been here 6 times in the last two months.) “Sure,” he says, “I’ll have a guy out at nine.”

Call the groomer. Back nine o’clock appointment to 10 and then call the car dealer to move the oil change and tire rotation until 11.

AC guy comes and fixes the AC. No charge. Check.

Dog to groomers. Check.

Pull into car dealership and all goes according to plan.

“Will you wait?”

“Sure how long?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Get my book out and sit in the corner. Several of the people are waiting at the same time and I watch as all of them are helped and leave. I’m reading. I look at my watch and notice I have been there for three hours. It’s 2:05. I wander out and the guy that checked me in notices me.

“Why are you still here?”

“Nobody came to get me.”

“I sent ______ to get you two hours ago.” He looks at his watch for verification. “Your papers are in the office. Just pay through there.”

I walk in to pay. The girl says, “$34.20.”

Since I missed the step were a worker goes over the bill with you I say, “Okay,” and hand her my credit card without looking at the invoice.

She hands me back a receipt.

“Wait, I bought the tires here so you are supposed to rotate them for free.”

She takes the paper back.

“So you want me to credit the 13.99?”

“Um Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later she has tried three times to credit my account. The line is out the door.

“I can’t get the computer to credit your account. I’ll be right back.”

People in line that have been there for the 45 minutes, start sighing. A woman with a small child in a stroller sighs and under her breath says, “This is ridiculous.”

The girl comes back. “The manager wants to give you a free oil change instead of the refund.”

“Great. Wonderful. Thanks so much.”

Phone rings. Dog’s done.

I head towards the groomers and the pharmacy calls with a prescription my Doctor was to call in yesterday. No biggie. It’s on the way to the groomers.

“Wendy Pottinger. My doctor called in a prescription and you called to say it was in.”

“Here you go. No charge.”

I look in the bag. “Wait. I’m allergic to an ingredient in this.”

The cashier hands the bag back to the pharmacist. “Yes, I see it here in your notes. But your Doctor called it in. Doesn’t she know about your allergies?”

“She was the one that discovered it. And we discussed it yesterday. This isn’t what she told me I was going to take.”

“You’ll need to have her call in a new prescription. And since its Friday afternoon we probably won’t have it until Monday.”

Sigh.

Construction on the main road to the groomers is taking three lanes down to one. I wait in traffic and wonder why I feel like I am on the verge of crying.

On to pick up Bailey dog. My one bright point of the day. I walk through the door and his whining greets me. He’s happy to see me.

“I just wanted to let you know that when we did his ears they looked a little pink. You may need to take him next door to Doc’s to get some ointment.”

I get the ointment from the vet. Put Bailey back in the car and we head to McDonalds. For him, not me. He gets his treat and we head home.

But I make one last stop. The corner gas station. I pick up a Powerball Lottery ticket, because after today, I think I deserve the 105 million dollars.

Hummmmm

It started out the way most misunderstandings begin. A simple statement taken out of context that escalates into a full-fledged argument.

My husband came home for lunch today, as he does every day, for his turkey over salad, crackers, fruit and protein bar. I was in the kitchen preparing his lunch, as I do most days and he says, “You look nice, are you going out somewhere?” Boom!!!!!

“No I’m not going out somewhere, why?”

“You just look really nice.”

I had curled my hair and put on a little makeup, mascara and lip gloss. And I did have on a pair of Khaki shorts and a pressed white button down shirt. But the comment said to me that I didn’t always look nice when he came home for lunch.

“I didn’t mean you don’t usually look nice,” he started in that, I know I’m not going to win this one fashion.

“After I got done scrubbing the toilets and baths this morning I decided to spend the afternoon writing. And sometimes, if I’m dressed nicer, I feel more professional.”

“So you admit, you are dressed nicer.”

“Nicer than what? Nicer than the man’s boxers and your old football jersey’s I wear in the morning when I’m cleaning? Or nicer than the baggy button ups and yoga pants I wear in the afternoon when I am cooking a three course dinner?”

“I get it. I’m sorry. You look great.”

“Would it have been soooo hard to say that to begin with?”

“No honey you’re right.”

At least that’s how it should have gone.

Instead it was- “I don’t know why you’re so defensive, I said you look nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Shopping. It seems I need some better looking clothes to wear when I’m cleaning the house. And since I’m dressed nice I can leave now.”

In the end there was no argument, no loud disagreement, but I do love my new shorts and tees.